Aversion
by chromeknickers
Summary: The many ways in which Bonnie is angered, annoyed, and frustrated with the cocksure vampire, Damon Salvatore. - A series of unrelated one-shots and vignettes that may or may not be expanded on due to my whim. "He raised a knowing and accusing eyebrow. She swore he spoke a whole other language with those damn things—eyebrowese?"
1. Morning Wood

A/N: These are unrelated vignettes, meaning that they do not follow one storyline. It's more like a bunch random scenes that pop into my head and I write them down. However, I may expand one or several of these vignettes into a chaptered fic at some point—depending on my interest and other projects. In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy these wacky Bamon drabbles. ;)

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Morning Wood

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The morning light filtered through the window, washing over Bonnie's face with growing persistence. The young witch groaned, squeezing her eyes tightly and trying her best to shut out the light and the foolish impulse to wake up. After a moment of internal debate, she finally gave into that foolish impulse and slowly blinked open warm olive green eyes. The harsh glare of the sun fell directly in her line of vision and she squinted, muttering a few colour expletives to herself. She was groggy, grumpy, and a little confused as to exactly where she was right now—and why there was an extra arm draped over her stomach?

Blinking blearily, Bonnie turned to see whom this mysterious arm belonged to, but his face was half obscured by the pillow. At first her brain was still too addled to care, instructing that she should close her eyes and go back to sleep. She willingly complied for a half-second before she suddenly remembered _exactly_ where she was and who she was with. She was in bloody Romania sharing a bed with a very human Damon Salvatore!

Bonnie bolted upright in bed, throwing the offending arm off her midsection and making a loud noise of disgust. Damon stirred and grunted into the pillow in response, entirely unperturbed by her assault, and she decided to tempt fate by warily prodding his shoulder with an index finger.

"Damon!" she hissed, jabbing his arm repeatedly. "Wake up!"

The handsome dark-haired man retorted with another grunt into the pillow and then slowly turned to face her. His blue eyes were instantly washed in light, and he blinked rapidly at the morning's brightness coming through the window. His long, dark eyelashes were fanned out like thin whips and he brought up a hand to shade his eyes, giving her his most cavalier yet decidedly sleepy look.

"What is it?"

"What the hell are you doing in _my_ bed?" Bonnie asked. It was the only bed in the room—one they were forced to share as a 'married couple', but that didn't mean he actually had to sleep with her. Why couldn't he just sleep on the floor like the dog he was?

"_Your_ bed?" Damon sat up and, after exhaling a series of jaw-cracking yawns, rubbed at his tired face and looked at her again. "What's your problem, Bennett?"

"_You_ are!" she spat. "All of _this_ is your fault. Us here, us—" she shuddered "—having to share the same bed."

Damon shifted on the tiny mattress. He was shirtless and half-naked, or at least she sincerely hoped he had pants on. "Oh yeah? What about me being human, _Witch_?" He raised a knowing and accusing eyebrow. (She swore he spoke a whole other language with those damn things—eyebrowese?) "Whose fault is that?"

Bonnie's anger instantly deflated and her feelings of violation were now replaced with guilt and shame. "I said I would fix that, didn't I?" she said a little too defensively. But instead of arguing the point or getting upset and yelling at her (again), Damon merely shrugged and folded back the sheets.

Once out of bed and on his feet, Damon stretched languidly with his back to her. Bonnie stole a glance at his pale, muscled back and saw that he was, thankfully, wearing pants. But as he turned around she got an eyeful of what he was hiding inside those pants.

"Oh God, Damon!" She threw up her hands to shield her offended eyes. "Put that thing away!" she demanded, horrified yet peeking at his groin through the cracks of her fingers.

Damon lazily glanced down to see that he was sporting a rather large erection. "Oh, don't flatter yourself," he quipped with carefully crafted derision, as if Bonnie actually thought she was responsible for his morning wood. "Besides, it isn't anything you haven't seen before."

He padded off to the bathroom and shut the door before Bonnie cried out, "Yeah, but I never wanted to see _yours_!"

The door then opened a crack, and Damon stuck his head out. "Hey, Bonnie?"

"What?" she mumbled, feeling decidedly embarrassed and wishing for a nearby rock to hide under as the sheets would not cut it.

"You can always give me a hand." He smirked, and Bonnie shrieked in outrage before grabbing the pillow and aiming it at the door. It fell remarkably short, and Damon's smug grin only widened. "C'mon, Bennett." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "You know you want it."

Damon quickly shut the door before the witch could look for something heavier to lob at his head. Once she heard the running water, Bonnie buried her face in her hands and groaned.

_Stupid Damon Salvatore!_


	2. Love Spell

Love Spell

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He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, letting his fingers trail back to the corner of her mouth.

"I love you," he said hesitantly. He looked at her as though afraid of what he might see on her face, hiding it, but not well. "You have no idea how hard it is to say to you. Not that I don't want to," he added hastily, bringing his wide palm back up to cup her umber-tanned cheek along the jaw. "I just… Bonnie… Can you ever consider us more than friends?"

Bonnie's eyes widened and her mouth worked soundlessly as words failed to tumble out. Damon Salvatore was touching her cheek and gazing at her longingly with those crazy blue eyes of his while whispering words of love like some lovesick fool. Was this a dream? It had to be; either that or a sick joke or a cruel trick played by the gods. Since when did Damon even like her as a _friend_?

But then Damon was slowly leaning towards her, his eyes sliding shut as his lips sought hers. Panicking, Bonnie instinctively jerked away and tumbled backwards, landing on the ground with a painful thud and clicking of teeth. She sat up and grimaced, bringing a hand to the back of her bruised head. It definitely wasn't a dream; the pain was indeed real.

Damon knelt beside her, his hand cupping the back of her head. "Are you all right?"

Bonnie glanced up at the vampire, her olive green eyes searching his. He seemed real enough—this seemed real enough—but what exactly was going on? She tried to speak, but her vocal chords refused to cooperate. Had she been struck mute? Was this a spell?

Damon's hands reached around and under her, swiftly scooping her up into his arms. "Let's get you inside."

The witch could only blink and stare at the dark-haired vampire in amazement. She was being carried, cared for and tended to by Damon Freakin' Salvatore! Yeah, this was definitely a love spell—or a curse (depending on how one looked at it). And Bonnie Bennett was going to get to the bottom of it once she got her voice back, and once she was safely out of the psychotic lovestruck vampire's arms.


	3. Snow Fight

A/N: This is part of my human!Damon world (see _Morning Wood_). Methinks I'll end up expanding this concept into a chaptered fic because a human Damon is just too precious. ;)

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Snow Fight

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They had been walking in the snow for fifteen minutes before Damon started sulking.

"I hate walking," he pouted angrily, tracking a trail for Bonnie to follow in. "Walking is for poor people."

"God, you're whinny," Bonnie huffed, trying not to fall as she sunk into Damon's boot prints. "Is that all you ever do?"

Damon turned and gave her a cheeky grin that set her off-kilter. "Oh, I can do other things," he suggested in a voice dripping with sexual innuendo. "Things _to you_ out here in the snow, if you'd like."

"I wouldn't," she said quickly, glad that the cold wind had already tinted her umber skin a dark rose. "Anyway, we can't get a vehicle through here even if we tried. The elders said we'd get there just fine by walking the trail."

Damon snorted derisively. "That's easy for them to say. They don't have to trudge through this 'nads-deep freezing wet shit, now do they?"

"Aww, is poor widdle Damon afraid of the snow?" Bonnie cooed; noting, with triumph, the irritation settling in his striking blue eyes. "Well, whatever. You'll just have to get over it. It's our only route to the house. Plus, this stuff is waist deep for me at times and you don't see me complaining."

"That's because I'm blazing a trail for you!" Damon barked indignantly. "Besides, for you to complain would make you human like the rest of us."

Bonnie's back stiffened and she stopped dead in her tracks (or his), and regarded the dark-haired man with a thousand-yard stare. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means that aside from not bitching and moaning like any _normal_ person would, you, Bonnie Bennett, do not know how to have fun." He cocked his head to the side, letting his eyes roam over her body in that unnerving habit of his until they settled on her face. "You need to loosen up a bit, Judgey."

Having said his piece, Damon turned around and started tracking through the snow again. But something inside Bonnie had snapped at his words. She wasn't human enough, huh? She didn't know how to have fun, huh? Her lips curved into a dangerous smile.

"I need to loosen up, huh?" Damon merely nodded, his back turned to her as he continued to trudge forward. But before he knew what was happening (thanks to no longer having his vampy-senses), a wet snowball exploded on the back of his head.

He swivelled around so quickly, he almost toppled over. "What the hell? You vindictive little witch!" he spat, dusting the snow from his hair before he reached down and gathered a handful of the white stuff and lobbed it at Bonnie's face in retaliation.

The witch in question sputtered in surprise—at Damon daring to throw snow back at her _and_ hitting her directly in the face—and caught the playful and cocky glint in his eyes. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat and her olive green eyes narrowed on him.

"Big mistake, Salvatore," she growled, standing her ground. "I used to spend winter vacations with my cousins in Colorado, so you better believe they taught me how to pack the most perfect snowball." There was a wicked gleam in her eyes as she slowly bent down to gather snow and pack it in her small hands, never breaking eye contact with the dark-haired man. "I can make it _hurt_."

"Oooh," Damon taunted, raising his hands in mock surrender, "I'm shaking in my ass-kicking boots here, Bonnie." It probably wasn't a wise idea to challenge the witch, but Damon was never one to back down from taunting her—ever. Hell, it was one of his favourite past-times, almost as much fun as feeding had been. In any case, he had thrown a fair amount of snowballs in his day (and he had many more days on him than she did) and, if necessary, he could easily take Bonnie down—in vampire form or not.

"You asked for it," she said, and hurled a snowball smack dab in the middle of his forehead with an icy crunch.

"Fuck me!" Damon roared, clutching at his forehead in obvious pain. "Did you put rocks in there or something? Fuck! I think I'm bleeding!"

Bonnie's triumphant grin quickly faded as Damon carried on writhing in pain, shouting the most colourful expletives she'd ever heard. She hadn't meant to hurt him that badly; snowballs only stung for a bit and usually didn't cause this sort of drama. But then this was Damon Salvatore, and he lived for drama. However, he was in human form, so maybe she had actually hurt him.

Quickly jumping from boot print to boot print until she was standing directly underneath him, Bonnie tried to coax his hand down from his forehead to get a good look. "Crap! Sorry, sorry! Lemme see," she said, fluttering about.

Bonnie only belatedly realised her mistake when Damon kicked her legs out from under her and caught her by the arm. Hoisting her onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry, he smacked her ass with a flat palm, ignoring her indignant gasps and squeals of protest, before dumping her in a large bank of snow.

"You bastard!" she shouted. "That's cheating!"

Damon stood over top of her, smiling smugly. "And that's why you'll never win against me, Bennett."


	4. The Vampire Slayer

The Vampire Slayer

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Damon didn't like playing the hero any more than he wanted to be an errand boy. He was the villain, the resident bad boy—not some vampire lackey with whom Elena could depend on. But Damon had always been powerless to her whims, just like he had been with Katherine. Elena was beautiful and enticing and loyal and had this way about her like Katherine did; although she was far less manipulative and had zero malicious intent. Still, Damon was ensnared and had willingly become her whipping boy. What could he say? He was love's bitch. And currently love had him tracking down the scent of one Bonnie Bennett—a powerful witch on the lamb (or so everyone assumed).

Why Bonnie had left town Damon did not know and did not care. What sane non-supernatural (or supernatural) entity _wouldn't_ want to leave Mystic Falls? The town was a death trap. Living there ensured not only your own gruesome death but the death of your loved ones. As far as Damon was concerned, Bonnie could go and do whatever she pleased, just as long as she didn't interfere with his business. Sure, the witch was a valuable tool to have around (a Bennett witch, if anything, was always useful), but the judgemental holier-than-thou attitude Damon could have done without. So, if Bonnie wanted to leave Mystic Falls, he'd let her. Hell, if she had have told him in advance he would have sent her off with a bon voyage and a lovely parting gift basket.

But Elena didn't want that. No, Elena didn't want another friend to leave her (she did have serious abandonment issues, after all), and it had nothing to do with having a powerful witch in her back pocket. There was no strategy to hunting down Bonnie and dragging her back and, honestly, Damon did understand it. Why force someone to return to a place they obviously hated? But Elena wanted her best friend back, and what Elena wanted Elena got. And Damon was still love's, and therefore Elena's, bitch.

He had spent the better part of three weeks tracking Bonnie up and down the eastern seaboard and then trekked over to the west, and all the fun places in between. He had visited with less-than-welcoming witches who'd rather burn him to ashes with their minds than give him a heads-up on the Bennett witch's whereabouts. Regardless, no one seemed to know where Bonnie was or where she had even been. It was almost as if she had dropped clean off the face of the earth—or at least she had left the continental United States without a trace.

Whatever the case, Damon had done all the Scooby Doo-ing he needed to; he wasn't travelling overseas to hunt for the witch. If Bonnie didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be—and Elena would have to deal with it (deal with it by sobbing on his baby brother's shoulder). Damon was about to head back home to break the news when he heard a familiar voice carrying from a nearby park.

The moon was rising high in the sky, its silver light falling across the dark trees and park benches. Down by the pier is where he saw her, Bonnie Bennett. She was dressed in skin-tight black leather pants and a matching halter top with her dark chestnut hair swept back into a high, sleek ponytail. She appeared to be conversing with three men—three vampires.

Before Damon could ever consider his options—to help the witch or watch her dispatch the vampires with some painful aneurysms—the entire scene unfolded in front of him like a swift, furious battle. Bonnie had grabbed a stake from her hip and aimed at the tall blond who looked to be the oldest and strongest of the three. He took a step back, allowing the largest hulking specimen of the three to fight his battle for him.

"Take her alive, if you can," Blondie ordered, quickly manoeuvring back out of harm's way.

The hulking vampire, who looked like a bouncer on steroids and who Damon had mentally nicknamed Bruno, attempted to trade punches with Bonnie. Amazingly enough, the witch evaded most of his wide throws and took what blows connected like a champ before delivering a swift kick to Bruno's solar plexus and driving him backwards. The second vampire, who was thin and wiry, had launched at Bonnie with a spinning assault. Bonnie, though, somehow intercepted his speed and easily dodged aside, hammering the stake through his heart as he sailed by.

Blondie growled in frustration and moved forward to stand with the hulk, Bruno, hoping to flank the witch. As the big guy rushed forward, Bonnie snarled in cold glee as she smashed her fist into the bridge of his nose, destroying the cartilage with a sickening snap. As he doubled over and brought his hands up to his nose, exposing his upper torso, Bonnie took the stake and brought it up underneath his ribcage, driving it through to his heart with a grunt. The thin piece of wood stayed embedded there as big ol' Bruno hit the dirt.

Meanwhile Blondie reached past the hulk's falling form and cold-cocked Bonnie in the face. "You fucking bitch!" he spat, rushing forward and pinning her up against the tree. "Fuck orders! I should just rip out your heart."

Suddenly from behind there was a sickening crunch of bones as bloody fingers tore through the vampire's chest. Damon swiftly pulled his hand out, along with Blondie's heart. "Not if I rip out yours first."

The heartless vampire let out a needless gasp and fell to the ground, dead. Damon side-stepped the body and held out his bloody hand as though he didn't know where to put it. He certainly wasn't wiping it off on his jacket or jeans or his five-hundred dollar shirt. Instead, he bent down and wiped his hand on the dead vampire's coat, staining it with the already blackened blood.

"So, who are you supposed to be—Buffy or Willow?" He grinned smugly to himself, and stood back up to regard the pretty witch with electric blue eyes.

Bonnie didn't seem to be listening. She just stepped out from beneath the tree and pulled out another stake, slowly stalking towards him. It was a sexy sort of stride, full of confidence and power—and it definitely fit well with the dangerous black leather attire she was currently sporting. Needless to say, he was a fan.

"Well, whatever," Damon said with well-crafted boredom set in his tone. "The cavalry has arrived." When he flourished grandly towards himself, Bonnie didn't even bat an eyelash; not a solitary muscle moved on her lips to curve upwards into a smirk or downwards into a disapproving frown. "Hold your enthusiasm there, Bonnie; you're embarrassing yourself." He deliberately rolled his eyes and took a step towards her. "Look, I know you're most favourite person in the world, but I—"

With the speed of a vampire, Bonnie rushed him. The tip of the stake was aimed for his heart, but Damon moved around it and she followed. She moved as silently as an arrow whispering through the dark, and Damon had to move with a speed and grace he rarely had to demonstrate in fights.

"What the fuck?" But she was already on him again, relentless. This time when she sped forward he reacted with his full strength, the skin around his eyes spidering black before he grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her roughly to the ground. "Dammit, Bonnie! It's _me_!"

Bonnie ignored his declaration and effortlessly flipped back up onto her feet. She cracked her neck and shook out her arms as though she was shaking off a cushioned fall to the ground. Just a minor setback was all. She looked completely unharmed and unfazed by his assault. Damon expected some witchy fire or an aneurysm or two, but Bonnie just clutched the stake in her hand and began to gently weave like a vigilant boxer.

"Am I supposed to know you?" she asked.

It was her first words to him, and he didn't have long to absorb the absurdity of the question before she was lunging forward again with that incredible speed of hers. She was almost as fast as he was and just as strong, maybe even stronger. Who the fuck knew? Damon barely stepped out of the way before grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her back, bringing a hard knee to one of her kidney's.

Bonnie absorbed the blow with a short gasp and pivoted back, returning with a roundhouse kick to Damon's head. He staggered backwards and clutched at his face. Was her leg made of lead now? What the fuck?

"What the fuck has happened to you, Bonnie?" he roared, trying to sweep her feet out from under her. But she was too fast, already flipping backwards and out of the way.

"Why do you keep calling me _Bonnie_?"

He was about to clarify that she was an idiot because that was her name, when Bonnie rushed forward and swung at the hip; her stake embedded upwards in his chest. Damon's hands were wrapped tightly around Bonnie's in a dangerous game of push and pull. It was taking almost all of his strength not to let her puncture the wooden instrument all the way through to his heart. And while he knew Elena didn't want him to kill Bonnie, Damon wasn't about to fight with kiddie gloves on.

He shoved back with all his might, connecting both sets of hands and the back of the stake with Bonnie's chin, sending her reeling backwards. From then on it was a full-frontal assault, a series of kicks and punches, determined to drive her back and tire her out. One last punch connecting with her jaw and she was sailing through the air before landing painfully on her back with a listless thud. Damon was tempted to tell her to stay down when, with a gymnastic lift, cross, and twirl of her legs, Bonnie had already propelled herself back up onto her feet. She was breathing a bit heavily but looked far from worn out like he had wanted. Instead she looked ready to fight again, glaring at Damon with those olive green eyes of hers, noting the stake held loosely in his hand.

"Looking for this?" Damon asked, waving the weapon at her like a school-yard taunt.

Bonnie didn't say a word or look all that affected by his small victory; the venom had temporarily gone from her eyes. In fact, she looked slightly amused with him, maybe even a little exhilarated at the challenge he presented. He couldn't deny that a small part of him felt the same way. She was already dusting herself off, making sure to deliberately smooth her hands over her form-fitting, leather-clad thighs. Damon followed those slender hands, cocking his head to the side as he took her all in—the smooth curves, the silky exposed chocolate skin, and the come-hither-and-I'll-stake-you eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound one-tenth as interested as he was.

"Name's Katerina," she said with a velvety purr and upturned lips. There was nothing playful in that smirk. She was pure predator and she saw him as her prey. "But you can call me Kat for short—well, for what's left of your undead life."

Damon couldn't help but smirk at the threat, albeit rather angrily. This girl had witchy amnesia or some shit, and now she thought she was some badass vampire hunter? She was lucky he didn't try to rip _her_ heart out of her chest—that very real and beating heart.

"Okay, maybe I asked the wrong question." Damon chucked the stake over his shoulder into the bushes and took a step towards the petite witch, invading her personal space like he always did. "_What_ are you?"

She certainly wasn't a vampire; he could tell that much from her obvious beating heart. Plus, she still smelled very human and very Bonnie. But there was something off about her, and not just her newly found speed and strength. Her entire demeanour was different; that and the fact that she had no clue who he was or who she truly was. So what exactly was she?

Bonnie (Kat) pulled out another stake from the back of her leather pants (where she found the room, Damon did not know) and twirled it between her fingers. She studied the dark-haired vampire intently; less like she wanted to immediately kill him and more like she wanted to know exactly what his deal was.

"Me?" She took a bold step forward and brought the tip of the stake to her pouty lips before placing it on Damon's. "I'm just the vampire slayer."

Every muscle in Damon's jaw twitched mercilessly as he felt the smooth weight of the wood and the warmth of her breath tickle his skin, and he groaned. "You have got to be shitting me."

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A/N: Is Bonnie still a witch? What happened to her? *shrugs* This one's kinda like _Vampire Diaries_ meets _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ meets a bit of _La Femme Nikita_. Whatever the case, it results in a BAMF Bonnie (or Katerina/Kat).


	5. The Break Up

The Break Up

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"What are you doing Friday night?" Damon asked Bonnie the moment she entered the den.

"I dunno." She shrugged. "I don't have anything planned."

Damon nodded absently and poured himself a glass of bourbon from the crystal decanter before turning to lean against the bar. His silver-blue eyes raked over his girlfriend's attire; she was dressed in a white knit off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and a pair of dark skinny capri jeans that hugged her hips and accentuated the curves of her calves; finished off with a pair of black ankle-wrap three-inch stilettos.

"Then put on something sexy and accessible, my little witch, because I'm taking you out on the town." He gave her a wink and tipped the glass to his lips. "I'm thinking about dinner at Casa del Sol. Ever been?"

Bonnie shook her head, her chocolate curls bouncing off her shoulders. "No, I haven't."

"Good." Damon took a healthy sip of his drink and grinned. "You'll love it." He absently swirled the crystal tumbler in his hand, watching as the liquid sloshed up against the side of the glass. "Listen, Bons, I know I've been neglecting you lately—" a tender, apologetic smile lit up his eyes "—but I promise to make it up to you."

Bonnie opened her mouth to speak but shut it just as quickly. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and nodded slowly instead. Damon, however, wasn't fooled. He set down his glass and cocked an eyebrow in curiosity at her demeanour.

"Is something wrong?"

Bonnie swallowed hard and dropped her arms. She had his full attention now, and what was worse was she had heard a trace amount of concern laced in his tone—concern for her.

"No, I just—I don't think I can make it this Friday," she mumbled, trying to think of a graceful segue for what she really wanted to say, what she had been trying to work herself up to say for the better part of two weeks.

"But you just told me you didn't have plans," Damon said carefully, his voice hardening with suspicion. "Am I mistaken in assuming that I can take my girlfriend out on a date if she has no plans?"

Bonnie's tongue nervously darted along her upper lip and she shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't have any plans, but I don't want to go out to dinner with you, Damon."

"And why not?" A muscle worked in his jaw, and he tried his best not to outright scream at her or accuse her of a list of offences that were multiplying by the second inside his head. "We don't have to go out to dinner. We can go to the movies or a club or just stay in. Stefan's bound to have some sappy romantic chick flick hidden around here somewhere, nestled between his tampons and an original copy of _The Bell Jar_."

Bonnie didn't even crack a smile. "Damon, I—I think we should break up."

He went completely still. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me."

His lips compressed into a hard, thin line. "Not correctly, I didn't." When Bonnie confidently met his gaze, he walked around the bar and stood directly in front of her, studying her face. "I believe you're saying that you want to leave me," he said slowly, tempering his tone with difficulty. "I wasn't aware you were unhappy with our..._ situation_."

Bonnie lifted her chin defiantly. "I am."

"I see." He brought his hand to her hair and curled a dark lock around his middle finger before letting go. "So, you're fucking someone else then?"

Bonnie flinched at the savagery of his words, especially when said so brazenly, but kept her eyes trained on his. "No, Damon. I am not cheating on you."

He raised an eyebrow at her response, but he could feel his temper rising to the boiling point—to the point of no return. She might not be cheating on him now, but she wanted to see other people, other _men_. She wanted to fuck _someone else_. Why else would she want to break up with him?

"What brought about this sudden... revelation?" Damon asked cautiously, his lip curling into an ugly sneer as he prowled around her. "Decided that you _loathe_ me again? Back to seeing the world in black and white, good witches versus _evil_ vampires?"

"Of course not," Bonnie answered, deciding to ignore the heavy sarcasm in his voice. "I just feel like this relationship—or whatever it is—has run its course. We've been together for three months—"

"Four," Damon corrected, and then internally cursed himself for keeping count.

"—and we both knew this was just for fun." She shrugged nonchalantly, as though this were nothing, as if _he_ were nothing. "Neither of us wants to be tied down."

"Tied down?" he echoed darkly.

"Yes," she emphasised, waiting to see his reaction—waiting for his eyes to show relief or irritation that _he_ wasn't the one ending the relationship. But Damon just lapsed into one of his episodes of pointed silence and, to Bonnie's chagrin, the only expression he wore was that of latent anger.

"All right." He nodded after a moment. "If that's what you want," he added with frigid politeness.

"It's what we _both _want, Damon," Bonnie corrected just as rigidly. "And thank you for understanding." She waited a moment before turning to leave, but he didn't say anything. "Well, then, I guess I'll be going. See you around, Damon. I'd like for us to remain—"

"Take care, Judgey," Damon interrupted tersely, his face impassive. "I'm sure I'll see you at the next Scooby gang meeting."

Bonnie hesitated and then smirked. "Considering you and I are the only two who can devise credible plans to save Elena and this town then, yeah, I guess I'll see you soon." And with that, Bonnie turned around and left.

The second her back was turned, Damon shut his eyes. The click of the door closing behind her echoed throughout the room, and he opened his eyes to search for the closest, not-bolted-to-the-floor object in sight. Wrapping his fingers around the neck of a Tiffany lamp, he launched it across the room with unmasked fury. It smashed loudly against the wall, barely masking the roar that erupted from his mouth.

Goddamn that witch! Four months! They had been together for four months! He tried to remember the last time he had gone out with a girl for that long—a human girl—and he gave up. Did she really think he didn't care, that this was all just for fun? Maybe it was in the beginning, but now...

The room was silent and empty, eerily so. Damon knew he was being foolish; the room was no more silent and no more empty than it had been before Bonnie had come and gone, leaving him with the knowledge that she was gone for good. She had left _him_.

He walked back over to the bar and picked up his unfinished glass. He hated himself for the pathetic thoughts that unwillingly surfaced in his mind as he topped off his drink with angry, shaking hands. What had he done wrong? He hadn't killed anyone—anyone that didn't need killing at least. He hadn't drunk directly from the source in, well, four months. He hadn't looked at another woman, much less thought of someone else other than Bonnie. He hadn't even flirted with Elena. So he wasn't guilty in those departments.

He hadn't smothered her with attention. He had given Bonnie the independence she had firmly informed him that she wanted, even though he wanted to suffocate her at times, wanted to stalk her every movement. And he tried his best not to let his obsession show; he knew how she hated that, with what she had seen him demonstrate with Elena and Katherine. But if he couldn't obsess over his feelings and insecurities over her, he had at least wanted her to depend on him, to pine after him. Was that too much to ask for?

God how he just wanted to be with her sometimes—all the time—to feel the smoothness of her thighs beneath his hands, to explore every sun-kissed curve on her body, to bathe in the heat of her skin, to bury himself between the wet folds of her—

Damon shook his head with a grimace, as if he could rid the treacherous thoughts and natural inclination of his body with this simple action. _Fuck this_, he told himself. He had clearly done nothing wrong; so whatever the problem with their relationship was it was Bonnie's problem, Bonnie's fault. Maybe she didn't want him anymore. Maybe she never wanted him to begin with. Maybe she was only using him to get to someone else. Maybe it was all one big fucking joke and he was the punchline.

The tumbler shattered in his hand and the dark, sticky alcohol sprayed across his neck and chest. He unclenched his hand that had formed into a fist, letting the pieces of glass break apart and fall to the floor. Shards of crystal had splintered into his palm as bourbon and blood ran down his wrist in rivulets, staining the rug dark below.

Goddamn her! Goddamn her all to hell! That witch had no idea what she had done.

* * *

A/N: I admit I've been toying with the idea of writing a fic where Damon and Bonnie are already dating and then Bonnie breaks things off—mainly because she is starting to fall in love with him and she thinks he's still in love with Elena. Naturally, Damon, being Damon, would go postal—even if the relationship was originally built on the foundation of 'having fun' together. ;)


	6. Moving On

A/N: Yup, this is a continuation of _The Break Up_—from Bonnie's PoV.

* * *

Moving On

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**.**

Bonnie wasn't quite sure where to go after Damon's, but somehow she ended up on Caroline's doorstep. Unsurprisingly, Elena was also inside. The two girls were seated on the sofa, watching _Dirty Dancing_ with a large bowl of popcorn shared between them.

"We've been texting you for the past twenty minutes!" Caroline complained, ushering her best friend to sit between her and Elena.

"Sorry, I was at Damon's," she muttered, sinking into the cushion once Elena removed the bowl and set it on the coffee table.

"Where is he?" Elena glanced at the door, as if expecting the older Salvatore brother to come waltzing in and join them at any moment.

"Back at the boarding house, I assume." Bonnie shrugged languidly. "Or off getting wasted at The Grill."

Caroline and Elena shared an uneasy look. "Why would Damon be getting wasted at The Grill?" Elena asked hesitantly.

"Because I broke up with him," Bonnie answered, leaning over to scoop up a handful of popcorn. "Either he's drinking to celebrate or to lament that fact that he didn't think of dumping me first."

Elena frowned, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "You broke up with him? Why? You two seemed to be getting along so well..."

"You mean we lasted longer than anyone expected?" Bonnie snorted derisively, raising a brow in umbrage before shaking her head with a sigh. "Look, Elena, you and I both know that he's still not over you. And I can't be in a relationship with a guy who's in love with one of my best friends."

A guilty expression instantly stole over the tall brunette's face and she went silent for a moment, unable to reply. Caroline took this opportunity to bounce onto the seat next to Bonnie and throw an affectionate arm around the petite witch's shoulders. "Well, good for you, Bons," she declared proudly, offering her distraught friend a winning smile. "You're too good for Damon, anyway. Waaaay too good for him."

Elena nodded furtively in agreement and Bonnie merely shrugged, letting out a long, protracted sigh. "Yeah, well, it was all for the best."

She shovelled the handful of popcorn into her mouth, not wanting to say any more. Bonnie didn't want to admit that Damon still being in love with Elena wasn't her _only_ reason for wanting to end it with him. She could live with that—and did live with that fact for three months—when she didn't love him. But over the past few weeks Bonnie's feelings had begun to change and deepen for the dark-haired vampire. And so she came to the regretful conclusion that she had to get away from him before he broke her heart permanently. It was for the best, she reasoned, but right now she just felt like shit—for herself and Damon. But he'd get over soon, much sooner than she would—if he wasn't already getting over it with another woman in his bed.

Bonnie tried hard not to growl at the thought. She had no right to get jealous or upset over Damon returning to his playboy ways. She had dumped him. Lord knows she didn't want to—and she'd deny it to the grave—because Damon was fun, hilarious, and challenging. No one else knew how to keep her constantly on her toes like he did. There was never a dull moment in their relationships, and when the arguments got heated, so did the sex. Even non-argumentative sex with Damon could curl her toes and plaster a perma-smile on her cupid bow lips. And it wasn't even the vampire aspect that did it, which, honestly, Bonnie could have done without. She wasn't a death-lover like her best friend, Elena.

Damon, Bonnie had come to experience first-hand, was a thorough lover; making sure to get her off before he did. On top of that he was generous and sweet. Yes, Damon Salvatore could be sweet—behind closed doors, of course. Lying in bed together, coming down from their post-coital bliss, he would tell her stories about his travels (PG-rated) and his past, even recount his childhood with Stefan, secretly divulging how they were once best friends—two halves of the same whole.

Other times he'd read to her in bed or in the study—the works of Ovid and Virgil and countless other Roman and Greek philosophers and poets. He was a romanticist at heart. He'd also make her listen to Vivaldi, Bach, and Hendel and then dip her toes into the blue notes of her own grass-roots culture, playing the works of Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, and Nina Simone.

They'd just sit with one another for hours, never saying a word, never trading a barb; just sharing the occasional knowing look, the conspiratorial smiles and soft laughs. Bonnie never thought she could be so comfortable or so at ease with someone—and it was with Damon Salvatore of all people!

Originally, they had got together out of convenience, out of the need to clear the air between them. The unresolved sexual tension had been mounting for years, and one day Bonnie just decided to take Damon up on his offer and put an end to it. Well, it was more complicated than that, but what she had initially intended to be a one-time thing had become weekly and then daily and before she knew it they were dating.

Neither had put a label to what it is they were doing or who they were to one another. Today was the first time Damon had called her his girlfriend, and it had shocked Bonnie to the core. She had a feeling he had come to care for her in his own way, had become habituated to her new role in his life. She was no longer his frenemy, his witch to go to for a quick mojo solution, his partner in crime; she had become more than that; she had become his lover, his confident, his comrade.

And Bonnie quickly found herself becoming complacent. However, every time Elena was in the room with them, she would see his eyes drift to her, longingly, and it created a bruise on Bonnie's fragile heart. As much as she tried to shake it off, pretend it wasn't there, the bruise only swelled and spread. She was already in too deep, she knew, but maybe not deep enough that she could avoid drowning. And so Bonnie decided to swim back to the safe, Damon-free shores. She would miss the waters—the way they caressed, soothed, and licked at her skin—but her heart would be safer this way.

Before Bonnie knew it, the movie was over and Caroline had got up to pop in a new one, _Footloose_. Apparently they were on an '80s dancing flicks kick tonight. But before the blonde vampire could settle back down on the sofa and press play, a loud series of knocks rapped on the front door. Caroline made her way to the foyer and opened the door wide, revealing a ruffled-looking Stefan.

"Stefan!" Caroline positively beamed, and Elena's interest was instantly piqued as she swivelled around so quickly Bonnie was sure the girl was going to break her own neck. "I'd invite you in to stay but this is girls' night. And while you know I consider you my girl, girls' night requires the lack of certain, uh, anatomical parts."

"Stefan?" Elena rose to her feet, taking a tentative step towards the younger Salvatore brother, while offering him a bashful smile. "How are you?"

Stefan spared Elena a brief glance before stepping through the threshold and past Caroline, making his way straight for Bonnie. "Bonnie, I've been trying to call you."

"I had my phone turned off," Bonnie said absently, the corner of her eyebrow dimpling with bemusement. "Stefan, what's wrong?"

"It's Damon." His smooth forehead was doing that wrinkling, brooding thing it did, and Bonnie felt her heart plummet into her chest. Something was wrong; something was seriously wrong.

"What is it? What has he done?"

All eyes went to Stefan, waiting for the answer that would surely rock their small town world forever.

* * *

A/N: What has Damon done, Stefan? With the older Salvatore brother the possibilities are endless. He could be drowning his tears in booze and weeping like a hormonal pregnant woman or shagging Katherine and Bekah at the same time or bathing in the blood of the townsfolk of Mystic Falls or sitting down for tea and crumpets with the Queen. Well, maybe not the latter (although I'd love to see that). Nonetheless, whatever he's doing is most likely diabolical, self-destructive, and not at all a good idea—at least not where Bonnie's concerned.

PS. You honestly didn't assume this story would get better, did you? Lol. I have to admit I am sorely tempted to turn this arc into a chaptered fic and will probably do so once I've finished a couple of my other projects. Consider these two ficlets the prologue _in medias res_. There will have to be an explanation for why and how these two crazy kids got together in the first place—and what Bonnie's gonna do now that Damon is _potentially_ wreaking havoc and painting the town red. (She created a monster, I tells ya!)


	7. Co-Workers

A/N: I decided to write something rather AU with Bonnie and Damon where they are slightly closer in age (six-seven year age gap). It's an all-human TVD world set in an office environment. What? I'm not projecting... much.

Anyway, this is just a vignette. I'm thinking about turning this into a chaptered fic at some point... if you all agree. ;)

* * *

Co-Workers

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**.**

**.**

Damon had left work more than two hours ago and was in the midst of packing a bag for the weekend when he realised he had left his phone at work. Cursing to himself, he jumped in his Camaro and made it to the office in record time (and without a speeding ticket). The security guard had instantly recognised him and let the dark-haired Salvatore inside. Taking the stairs because they were faster, Damon made his way to his shared office, noting the sliver of light pooling out from underneath the half-closed door with a frown.

He pushed open the door to reveal his young co-worker, Bonnie Bennett, sitting at her desk with her feet up and her lovely face pressed between the pages of a book. Her sleek black pumps were dangling off her tiny feet and her legs, which were regrettably covered in dark grey pinstripe dress pants, were crossed at the ankle. Her tailored business jacket had been shed and was hanging off the back of her chair, revealing a form-fitting white silk camisole underneath. The colour contrasted perfectly against her bronzed skin, showing off her well-sculpted arms and flawless skin that looked like nothing short of whipped milk chocolate. Her hair was still done up in a side-sweeping French Twist, showcasing a delicate column of neck that just begged to be kissed and licked. The only thing missing were a pair of rectangular black-rimmed glasses and Damon's sexy librarian slash office vixen fantasy would have been complete.

Shaking the rebellious thoughts from his head, Damon pursed his lips together in a frown. "What are you still doing here?"

"Hmm?" Bonnie absently glanced up from her book, not at all shocked by his presence. "Damon, what are you doing here?"

"I believe I asked first," he quipped, and then luckily spotted his phone on his desk. He picked it up and waved it to her as reason for his visit before turning towards the door. "You're not planning on sleeping here tonight, are you?"

Although Damon had phrased the question in a facetious manner, the idea of Bonnie camping out at work, sadly, wasn't all that absurd a notion. Bonnie Bennett had a work ethic that made his father, Giuseppe Salvatore, look like a lazy bum in comparison, and she seemed to take the term workaholic as a her personal creed.

While Damon had managed to survive working with the young woman for the past two months, he was still getting used to her little idiosyncrasies—mainly her unflagging work ethic, which tended to foil his lack of one. Their initial meeting hadn't been exactly cordial (it was downright hostile); however, Bonnie had turned out to be a lot nicer than she had initially let on. Although she could still out smart-mouth and sass-talk the best of them, which included himself. She always had a comeback ready; ready, willing, and able to spike his serve.

Though she might not have been Damon's most favourite person on the planet, he had come to respect her; to respect her intelligence and drive and the fact that she never let him get away with shit. Normally someone calling him on his bullshit annoyed him to no end, but with Bonnie it was different. Hell, he even let her get away with her unintentional cock-blocking at work (which was just as well since there was no one who really caught his fancy). There was just something so judgemental and holier-than-thou about Bonnie Bennett that he had oddly come to appreciate her for it, like it was a rare gift, making her an exceptional person in his books.

However, for the past week the fast-talking, quick-thinking ball of sarcastic wit that was Bonnie Bennett had seemed to be teetering on the edge of sanity. She had been keeping absurdly late hours at work and even came in on the weekends when, in his opinion, she had absolutely no reason to. It was like the girl didn't have a life outside of work. But this potential sleeping at work business was unexplored territory, and Damon wasn't quite sure what to think of it.

"No, no. I just wanted to get some work done. I'll head home in a few hours."

A few hours? It was almost eight, and it didn't look like she had even eaten yet. "Are you—" he wanted to say 'insane' "—okay?"

"Huh? Me?" Her nose went back in her book. "Yeah, sure, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? I mean... it's not normal for a pretty young woman such as yourself to spend her weekends holed up at work."

Bonnie glanced up at Damon and quirked an eyebrow at him. "And _you_ know what's normal for young—" she couldn't say 'pretty' "—women?"

"I know most young women prefer to get laid," he quipped, leaning up against the doorframe as he casually inspected his nails. Bonnie scrunched her nose in distaste, but Damon merely crossed his arms over his chest. "You're young and attractive, Bonnie; you should be going out on dates on Friday nights, not working."

Bonnie exhaled noisily in frustration. "Being young doesn't mean I have to spend my time searching for a boyfriend. I find fulfilment elsewhere." She shrugged uncomfortably under his increasingly intense scrutiny. "Besides, it's not like there's an abundance of men to choose from around here. They're all either married or gay or old or—or _you_," she said in a rather accusatory tone, as though it was Damon's fault that Mystic Falls and the surrounding areas were sorely lacking in available bachelors.

"Hey." Damon unfolded his arms and pointed at himself, feeling offended for reasons he couldn't explain. "I'll have you know I am an _amazing_ date."

"Pfft," Bonnie snorted, barely acknowledging his self-promotion. "Whatever. It's not like I need a man for my life to have purpose."

"No?" Damon's right shoulder dug into the doorframe. "Your work gives you purpose, huh?"

Bonnie paused and sighed. "You know, there probably was a point in my life when that realisation would have stricken me with horror, but now it just passes me by."

"Yes, well, that _is_ sad," Damon said, unwilling to argue his point any further. "You're wasting your youth, Bonnie." But the girl merely rolled her eyes at him, as if he had no idea what he was talking about, and Damon turned around to leave. "Well, I'm off. Enjoy your... _this_."

"Yup." She waved him off. "See you tomorrow."

"I'm not coming in tomorrow," he called over his shoulder. "It's the weekend."

"You're not coming in?" Bonnie suddenly shot up out of her seat and ran after him down the hallway. "But, Damon, our deadline's this Wednesday!"

"Yeah, so? We have Monday and Tuesday to finish."

"But we're not even close to being done yet! You know it'll take longer than two days."

Damon stopped and turned as the muscles in his jaw began to spasm. "Well, if you wanted me to stay, Bennett, you should've told me earlier. I've already made plans for the weekend. I've got to leave town for DC tonight."

"Can't you cancel? You can't expect me to finish all of this by myself."

"No, _Bonnie_, I can't cancel," he ground out behind gritted teeth. "I'll help you finish on Monday. There's really not that much left to do anyway." Sometimes he secretly suspected that she created more work for herself just to have something to get worked up over. It drove him up the wall.

"I should've known this would happen," she muttered under her breath.

"Should've known _what_ would happen?" Damon demanded, feeling his blood pressure rise.

"That the minute we had an understanding, the moment I thought I could rely on you, you'd leave me here to do all the work."

"Oh, that is bullshit!" His mercury-blue eyes bulged wide. "Don't try to pin this or any of your relationship problems on me, Bennett. It's not my fault that you're trying so desperately to fill the emotional void in your life with work. Nor should you expect me to drop _my_ plans to make yourself feel less lonely and pathetic."

Bonnie's eyes narrowed dangerously and she scoffed. "Oh, that is fucking rich coming from you. Lonely and pathetic? You want to talk about emotional voids, Mr Playboy? Have you even _been_ in a real relationship?" When Damon just glared at her in response, as if he could burn a hole in her face with his eyes, Bonnie shook her head. "No, because all you have are one night stands!"

"At least I'm _having_ sex!"

"At least _I'm_ not deluded enough to think that having meaningless sex actually means something!"

Wait, why were they talking about sex and relationships in the first place?

"Piss off, Bennett!"

"Go to hell, Salvatore!"

"Gladly!"

They glared at each other for one dangerously tense moment as the air around them seemed to crackle with electricity. Then, in a fit of angry synchronisation, they both spun on their heels and stormed off in opposite directions.


End file.
